


Polarized

by orphan_account



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, End of Persona 5 Spoilers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Kind of lovers, M/M, Multiple Deaths, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 06:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13564464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They had always been polarized. Like magnets at opposite ends but desperately wanting to pull together, pushing and pulling close to each other before they were inevitably wrenched apart by death. It was time to break the pattern.Where Akira finally realizes why he is so drawn to the person who wanted to murder him.





	Polarized

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I am back. 
> 
> After struggling through some pretty serious writer's block and forcing myself to write, this finally came out of it.  
> Big thanks to somnicordia for literally kicking my ass from here to next year as a beta for this. I was really struggling with everything surrounding writing for the last few weeks now and she really dragged every ounce of passion out of me. It helped immensely!

The first time they met, they were children starving in the streets of a dust hazed city. Their names were unknown, long lost to impoverished times. They were nothing more than vermin in society, nuisances that begged and stole to try to survive in a world that held nothing but cruelty for them both. But still, he managed to leave a mark on the world— albeit as a sticky layer of blood that clung to a cobbled street. 

He had successfully pilfered the pocket of an older, scrappier boy and had been running from him, a wry smile on his lips. It was easier stealing from those who stole. The stamina of those children who lived in the gutter was easier to take advantage of than full-fledged adults. However, in his heightened, smug reassurance of himself, he had tripped. He hit the ground with a sickening crack, a splinter of light splitting his vision in half as his head started to throb violently. 

The boy pursuing him caught up. He could hear his thundering footsteps over the drumming pain of his panicked heartbeat. The other boy yanked at his shoulder, forcing him to roll over to face him as he yelped. His voice drowned out into soft whimpers as he attempted to open his eyes, blood staining his vision red from a gash in his head. He could hardly make out the shadowed outline of his pursuer as he straddled him, pinning him to the rocky earth.  Dirty, unkempt claws dug into his neck, a grimace on the other boy’s face, his lips set into a snarl. He choked, the world around him grew darker as he felt his body twitching under the impact and struggled to stay alive.

The older boy tightened his grasp. His own hands began to scratch the hand restricting his breathing, even though he could tell it would be of no use. Was this really how he was going to die? He kicked his legs as an effort to knock the boy off. No use. The other boy didn’t even flinch. He jolted again, thrashing until he could no longer find the strength to protest. The older boy was better built for the streets. He couldn’t fight this much longer, not with the warmth leaving his body out of the wound in his head. He could barely form words, he could barely move, but he’d be damned if he was going to just surrender like a beaten dog.

“You disgusting thief. How  _ dare _ you steal from me?” He heard him snarl. He wanted to laugh at the accusation. As if this boy hadn’t stolen the food he had lifted from him. Did he really look down on him like they weren’t equal in this shithole world?

Even in his fading consciousness, the irony in his statement was not lost.

“You… are a thief too, idiot.“

He saw a hint of the other boy’s eyes widening in disdain and surprise and his grasp loosened on his neck.

_ Struck a nerve, huh? _

But it was the softness in the other’s eyes that made him decide he liked that look on him— like he found some kind of compassion in the other. And he swore right then and there that he would make him look like that again at him, and only him, as the life bled out of him.

Perhaps it was then that fate decided to honor his wish—

For the next time they met, the same boy put a blade in his head.

Another chance at another life as another unrecalled name and the same boy killed him again. This time for meddling in the affairs of the Shogun. They were young still, old enough to be considered men, but young enough not to fully comprehend the roles they were playing. The rebel forces were being snubbed out and his name was just one among countless others on a list.

But he was happy that his friend was alive… his last thought had been that it looked like he had been taking care of himself. His complexion was clear and his dark eyes were narrowed but still bright. Much brighter than they had been when they were kids. They reminded him of the autumn leaves that crunched under his foot, something that was present year after year but never paid much attention to. Much like his friend whom he had all but forgotten about until the moment he cornered him. 

How foolish he had been to forget. The distance between them made his memories of the other boy few and far between; rarely visited, rarely recalled. Seldom had he looked back on carefree days together in the springtime of their youth, playing with sticks and pretending to be a samurai, chasing each other down a babbling brook that ran through their desolate village. The echo of his promise to his friend to return to him before the new year rang louder than the sword leaving its sheath and he realized he had all but forsaken him over the years. 

How could he have forgotten someone he had cared so much for; shared so much laughter, so many bright smiles? How could he—

His friend never forgot, however. “I waited. I waited for you all this time and you never came back.” He murmured and raised his sword arm back as he tried to calm him down, persuade him not to do this.

_But still, it’s nothing personal, just business._  

Those were the last words he heard as the swish of a blade plunged into him, right through his eye. In his moments of death when his body was convulsing, he couldn’t help but feel that it was entirely justified. In his moments of death when blood streamed down his face, he wanted to say he missed him, that he was angry they met like this again, that he was afraid to die—

That he was sorry he forgot him. He was sorry he forgot all about the times they spent together, skipping stones and combing the tall grasses for beetles. 

He was sorry it ended like this.

But words failed him, the rush of emotions that blazed through him was nothing like the fire that burned through his body as he convulsed. It robbed him of his ability to speak, to cry out. Had he more time, he would have mustered more than the gasps of stuttered syllables before his life was taken from him once again.

He made another promise to himself,  he vowed would not forget next time.

Another promise was broken easily through the ages. 

And another. 

And another. 

Soon, several lives flew by, littered with remnants of unfulfilled promises. His friend, his fated companion had poisoned him, stabbed him in the back, tortured him, burned him alive and bashed his skull open. He was always the first to die and every time, in the throes of death, he remembered everything. It had become so ingrained in his life spans that, deep down, he had come to accept fate as such. 

He soon began calling it intuition; a gut feeling that never settled right whenever he reconnected with his friend. An underlying fear of dying was replaced with the nagging sense to just accept it. Like he deserved it. Like he was paying for heinous crimes he committed from his past lives.

He never realized just how right he was until it was too late. Too late to fix things, too late to stop the life from draining from him. Regardless, the acceptance of death persisted throughout all of his lifetimes— he felt obligated to some unknown force to simply roll over and die. Every time the curtain fell, he bowed his head and submitted. 

It had become a recurring ensemble— the two as principal actors in their own star-crossed destiny. In the curtain call of yet another life, he would come to observe the expression on his friend’s face as each breath became harder and harder to take. A lasting memento of their shared fate. His last moments of existence playing in a grainy, monochromatic sequence of his friend's lips quivering in a heartbreaking sob or a sinister grin. His eyes would be downcast or staring straight through him, filled with malice or tears. And he would remember his guilt all over again.

Sometimes he was able to reach out and touch his face in his final moments. Sometimes he’d be clinging to life hours after his friend had left him for dead, and he was able to wonder if that was an attempt to let him live… or if his friend just wanted him to die slower. Regardless of the intention, it was always his deathbed. Wherever the other left him was the place he died, never having survived the encounters when they clashed.

Often they only met in the final moments of his life. It was that way for a long time, meeting only in passing or never at all. But the impact he had on the other's soul was absolutely apparent. He saw his demeanor crack every time he offered a word of kindness or demanded an answer.

"If only we met sooner. Maybe things wouldn’t have had to end up like this." His comrade whispered over his body, once when they were both spies for the Japanese government. They were fairly acquainted with each other this time, having worked together over the last year or so on a secret mission. However, his suspicions of sabotage on their objective led to an argument and ultimately ended with a bullet in his stomach.

His fingertips grew cold around the wound in his abdomen, not even the hot sticky blood coating his hand could keep him warm for long.

"I  _ trusted _ you." He hissed through tightly gritted teeth— he could almost hear them cracking under the pressure.

"No, you didn't."

And he was right, he hadn't. As his memories oozed into his mind, replacing the blood that pooled around him, he vowed he would save himself and this person. Somehow. His promise of never forgetting him didn't work, but maybe this would— because it didn't rely on him remembering, just the subconscious desire to protect them both.

Somehow, it worked. Perhaps it was fate, like some higher being in the cosmos decided to honor his wish. From then on, life was kinder to him. They met quickly and bonded deeply.

He was able to see the joy in his friend’s eyes as they talked, as they connected. Their friendship budded like flowers in the spring before withering under the cold hands of fate that grasped their lives and snubbed the small flame of their friendship out, be it through the other boy’s grip around his neck or drowning him in water; the countless ways he murdered him meant he wasn’t close enough to saving both of them.

In another life they were inseparable. He was able to touch his cheek unabashedly and smile. He was able to bask in the warmth of their closeness and for once- for once he felt like things would turn around. From what, he didn't know, but he felt like things were going to work out.

Until his friend kissed him one night, something he gladly returned with a longing ache rooted in his lungs and stole his breath away. However, once he found he couldn't actually breathe, he was able to assess what had happened. His closest friend took advantage of his shock to slip poison against his tongue and pulled away. 

His heart raced, coursing the poison through his veins much quicker than it would have normally. The recollection of lives long past swam through his clouded vision and it was the first time he had ever wondered, out of all the other times, if his friend had ever lived on after him, without him… he wondered if they shared a fate of death together— if he died shortly after killing his target. 

Was his fated murderer able to smile for someone else so easily, so freely long after leaving his body on the ground cold and alone?

He absolutely hated the possibility. It couldn’t be true—  that he could be so easily let go. He didn’t want his murderer to move on. He wanted that person to rot with him, slowly... in agony. 

Was that his yearning for vengeance? For the times before he had been slaughtered? Was that the heat that raced through him? Was that the sharp, harrowing pang in his heart that stung worse than being ruthlessly impaled? Worse than being lulled into a trap by honey-soaked words and gentle caresses?

And through the static tone of his own racing questions that rang in his ears, he heard the other boy retching from the same poison.

"I can't—" The man choked out soft apologies laced with sullen tears as  he  wiped the filth from his lips to confess the truth;  how he was blackmailed to kill him, that they were going to kill his sister if he didn't due to their meddling with exploiting government experimentations to the press. 

His friend’s sister did nothing wrong. His sister was sick and meek and never hurt anyone. His sister that was preyed on by the very government stooges that they both sought to destroy. His friend backstabbed him and bartered his life for his family. 

Still, he could not be angry at him. Not when he was hunched over, his eyes cast away from him in shame. There was regret, riddled in the arched lines of his quivering shoulders. He didn’t have to look to know his friend was in tears.

"I can't do this. The antido-" He watched his friend grasp at the small bottle and he found the strength to reach out and stop his hand from administering it to him.

"No." He coughed, spewing dark blood bubbling from his lips. "You live on. Your sister needs you." At least this death was mostly painless, apart from the ugly twist of betrayal that clawed at his heart. 

It was then that he realized— he was in love with someone fated to never be his. The way his friend mourned for him, the impossible decision he had to make and how it ate away at his chest. The way he didn’t want him to ever move on…

But that was selfish and he was ashamed of it.

Wanting someone he loved so much to die with him was a cruel desire, indeed. He was a beloved treasure in his life, the same treasure that destroyed him every time he dared do something as simple as existing. He was a constant rhythm in his life, even though he only barely remembered every other instance where they touched in his very last moments. It was cruel, so very cruel. And yet he welcomed the rekindling connection, though it ebbed at his breath and consciousness.

Next time—

Didn’t work. However, this time, the tears in those autumn eyes fell on him like rain and washed away the pain of the slit in his throat. This was his part in the flow of time, to die by the hands of the person whom he’d come to love with every flutter of his dying heart, someone he treasured more than the blood shed by those quaking fingers. He was getting through to him, he could see the regret pooling in his eyes. For now, that was enough.

“I’m sorry—“ He knew he had to do it, to make the call to sacrifice him for his own life once again. 

“It’s okay…” He mouthed soundlessly. 

Next time, he would tell him everything; his darkest secrets, his brilliant truths. 

Maybe next time, he would liberate both of them. There was a chance in every lifetime to end their suffering. If he just rebelled against this everlasting cycle of death and rebirth, this destiny etched in stone. No matter how long it took, he would keep carving at those stones to rewrite a new life— no matter the cost. No matter if his fingers broke, his bones jutted from his hand—his fingernails curled and split under the fruitless attempts. He still tried in his last few breaths to make a difference in their fate.

They had always been polarized. Like magnets at opposite ends but desperately wanting to pull together, pushing and pulling close to each other before they were inevitably wrenched apart by death. It was time to break the pattern.

And he tried—

And failed.

Countless more times, countless more tears, countless more—

He failed.

And it was him apologizing in his last moments nowadays. How many more times would he try to reach out and never be able to grab onto him? His fingers too slippery with his own blood from decisions made too late. Realization of their connection always came just years too late—

Moments, seconds, minutes—

Always too late to change anything. They were players thrown into a rehashed script that spanned the universe, traversed through time by recycling the acts over and over.

Every time it happened, a mark was engraved into his very soul, wounds that festered and healed with the rebirth of that same soul. Every stab, every rupture, every single tear shed over his body gouged into his existence was felt in the moments his heart gave out. Every death left a schism, much like the stain of blood on the street the first time, if it had even been the first time.

There was a spark, a chemistry between them that scorched. A lingering scent of danger and excitement they both obviously craved.

“I think you’re going to be the death of me.” He said once, while they were both running away from a local police pursuit that his friend had initiated. The boy next to him laughed breathlessly and bent down to rest his hands on his knees. He followed suit, rasping in precious air he unknowingly would soon be deprived of.

“What makes you think that?" 

“Just a hunch.” They both shared another laugh. 

His premonition bloomed under a knife to his heart, spirals of blood staining his skin.

Another life, another betrayal, another bloodstain, another meaningless apology.

Another resolution to try and make things right yet again as his past lives flooded his mind and he was cast into the darkness once more.

“It feels like, I don’t know— like I’m  _ drawn _ to you… is that weird?” The older boy asked with the softest, breathiest of laughs rounding his words. He turned to face him as they laid together on the warmth of a rooftop in the middle of summer, lying low after the heist they just pulled off together. The smile that graced his face told him that there was no lie, no deception. He knew his friend meant to betray him, but yet it didn’t bother him as badly as he thought it would. It was unusual— normal people would be upset and try to stop it. 

And yet it didn’t stop him from rolling over and returning that sincere smile with his own, his hand reaching out to touch his soon-to-be assassin. He just needed to reach further, prod gently with a stubborn touch of persistence until he let him in. That was something that could not be done with the pressing of his fingers against the other’s cheek—

But it was an attempt.

“No, I feel the same way…” He saw the boy’s face light up and his heart seized in his chest. Something pulled at his stomach, an excited jolt of possibility—like he could change things this time. Maybe this time, he would find a way instead of just accepting his fate. 

But he wasn’t close enough to him to change his mind. The next time his heart seized was in sweltering pain. He wasn’t able to forgo the bullet lodged in his chest. Death was smiling at him again and the flood of memories paralyzed him.

But that was when he heard it. The lightest prayer chanted in a meek whisper as his friend hovered over him, splattered in his blood from the intimate range of the bullet hitting him. 

He strained to hear the soft, sweet phrase he had never heard in all his lifetimes.

“— always loved you.”

And for once, he fought against death in the very last seconds.  _ Always _ was such a powerful word. 

And for once, he struggled to stay alive.

“W-what?” He asked with the remaining strength left in his cold body.

His friend stared at him, his eyes wide in surprise and his lips pressed into the most sorrowful smile he had ever witnessed. “From the first time you stole my food, thief.” He confessed, his voice weary.

Somewhere beneath his existence, his determination overpowered his need for survival, a spark set his soul on fire, burning away his pain until he was numb to it. 

He loved him, he knew he did. And that was when his true rebellion awoke. All this time, never knowing how the other felt and being provided those simple words—

And now, in death’s loving embrace, he had never felt so alive.

Fate’s shackles on him broke free.

They finally connected— it ripped through his body and he died with a smile on his face, an unspoken affirmation fresh on his lips, drowning somewhere amidst the blood that filled his mouth. 

This time, this time he would succeed. He needed to survive first.

Fate granted him his desire. If it wasn’t possible to save them both, then he’d just have to become the hero that would save his once-enemy turned fated friend. He would use others as need be to survive long enough to spare both of their lives.

The first bullet aimed for his head never hit him.

The second bullet aimed for his head never hit him either, yet Akira still felt unsatisfied when the metal apparatus went up in the engine room as he let Akechi be swallowed by the other side of the wall.

It was harrowing and numbing at the same time, the atmosphere threatening to suffocate him as the gunshots whizzed through the air.

Something nagged at him, throughout this month, a warning that this was terribly wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He couldn’t understand the unease he felt so deeply in his bones and muscles as they proceeded through the ship.

Akechi wasn’t supposed to die. No, that was his role, right? It was a jarring disconnect. Like their roles reversed. He couldn’t place a finger on why it bothered him so. He couldn’t comprehend why it felt so eerie to still be breathing. 

They sent the calling card the very next day. It had only felt right to take whatever insignificant trash that warped a man as powerful as Shido's heart as soon as possible after Akechi sacrificed himself for them. It subsided the guilt that was eating away at his strength; a least for a bit. 

When they were back on the ark, the long and arduous fight that had followed was one that worn him down to his bones. But he kept on fighting. It was all he was good for, nowadays. He fought against society, against the corrupt adults who threatened the lives of others for their own gain— fought against the nearly impenetrable strength of Shido's Shadow until it withered and fell to the ground, his treasure stolen.

Only Shido's treasure was probably something easily broken, easily thrown away.

His was not.

But he didn’t know why it was bothering him, why he felt so drawn to the hull of the ship beneath his feet. It didn’t feel right, something still felt… off.

Akechi Goro wasn’t that important in his life. He knew the guy well enough to mourn his death and be grateful to him for saving them but—

It’s not like they were steadfast friends. Those around him never tried to frame him for murder or tried to kill him.

Real friends didn’t do that. So why was he so bothered by that conclusion he came up with? Maybe the promise he made the day before was persistently wearing on him. The fact that it was going to be fulfilled so quickly when it took Akechi so long to attempt his own revenge.

Was he genuinely captivated, or was he bound by some underlying sense of obligation? No, that wasn’t it—

He didn’t have a chance to figure it out why it bothered him so much, why it felt so wrong not to go back down to the engine room before the ship began to rock and groan, welcoming the onslaught of water onboard. Panic flourished in the faces of the thieves around him, but the panic that swelled in him was of a different sort. 

It wasn’t for the sense of self-preservation, no, but for the thought of leaving Akechi there all alone. He had never been the one to leave him before, right? It was utterly nauseating, as though he was choking on his own blood. 

He had never tasted failure as he did right there and then. But he succeeded, right? Then why did he feel so empty? Why did he feel so disappointed? Akechi—

He needed to see him again.

“Mona," He said suddenly and looked down into the wide, bright blue eyes of his feline partner. "You guys go on ahead."

"What are you talking about? We all need to leave!" Concern and worry marred his face and Joker stooped down to look him in the eye.

"Don’t worry, I'll catch up."

"What do you mean, leader?"

"I need to go get something. Just focus on getting off the ship." He felt a tug on his jacket as he swiveled on his heel to leave and go back down. The eyes of the rest of the thieves were on him and he offered them a reassuring smile filled with hope — hope that even he didn't believe in.

"I'll meet you out. Trust me. Now go, I'm your leader and this is my decision."

Mona peered up at him and frowned. "Please hurry."

His smile bloomed into a brazen grin and he nodded. "See you soon."

The protests and cries of his teammates faded into the echoes of sloshing water and creaking metal as he forced his way to the hull of the ship, dissolving Shadows that stood in his way with a yank of their masks. They were weak to his determination, his insatiable thirst to know what all the scenes unfolding in his head meant. He just knew, that if he didn't hurry, they were  _ both _ going to die. 

He knew Akechi was still alive—somehow. It had only been a day, right?

He’d promised. A promise? A vow sworn on the cusp of death, soaked in blood. When? He swore he would keep them both safe. When did he make that oath? And why was it so fresh and sharp in his mind, like the twist of a blade through his eye?

Why were his promises—all of them — hollow and unfulfilled? This nagging ache in his chest was too much like he had just been shot in the heart. That pain staggered his progress down to the depths of the giant ship, too great to ignore.  He couldn’t die here without being sure the current promise to Akechi Goro was upheld. He was a gentleman after all. How could he call himself that if he did something so cowardly? 

But also what kind of thief would he be if he left the only treasure he had in this unending hell to float on the ocean waters forever? Or even sink to the rocky depths?

That's how he convinced himself, but it felt like he was just scratching at the tip of a giant mountain of unkept promises and vows. He hadn't made a single dent in it.

He didn't know how he was going to knock down the giant wall that stood between him and his goal. He had no plan or an escape route. He only had the overwhelming guilt in his chest whispering that he may already have been too late. Always too late. Be it years, be it a day, be it thirty minutes, be it moments. But this time, he threw fate aside, as Arsene ripped through the metal in front of him.

Why didn't he just find a way to get to him before? He could have. Why didn't he do this yesterday?  In the end, that metal wall meant nothing; he was easily rid of it. Perhaps it was the way Akechi's voice sounded when their bond transcended into a vow, a sweet sigh of relief and peace in his final words that made it feel like he would be breaking some second unspoken promise between them. It didn't carry the anguish of a tear scorned cry, nor the malice of angry, bitter words that marred his heart. Maybe he didn't want to impede on Akechi's trust, didn't want to see his body broken and weak. That would be disrespectful to him, right?

Even though Akechi had seen his mangled body plenty of times, he had never once seen his friend mutilated beneath him. He had never plunged a dagger into his heart or his back. He had never wrapped a rope around his neck and yanked until his friend grew cold. No, he had never done any of those things, and that’s why he was so afraid to see it.

His past was stitching itself together in front of his eyes, a waltz splashed in blood and tears.

He was going to save him this time, right? Akechi told him he had  _ always _ loved him with no hint of a sweet lie on his lips or in his eyes.

He was so foolish to forget those words that broke his shackles in his previous life. He was so foolish to break every single promise he ever made to him. 

But he remembered now. He remembered.

The words that rose the flames inside of him to burn away the pain for both of them. The words that gave him the will to fight to change both of their lives and to overcome fate.

The words that gave a voice to his rebellion, that gave him the will to fight for them, to make their lives better and save them.

"Akechi!" He called out, using his third eye to frantically look around. 

He wasn't too late, he could still salvage this. Akechi was never going to believe him when he told him about it all as the memories rushed through him like the water that was now submerging at his calves. He waded through, finally spotting him lying against a few boxes. He almost tripped, his foot slipping but this time he managed to regain his balance. A box toppled over and he ducked just in time to keep from smashing his head open. He heard it splinter against a tank that spurted out inky fuel and he knew he had to get the newest incarnation of the person he had shared many lifetimes with out of there as quickly as possible. They were both going to die with gasoline and salt water in their mouths or burned alive if he didn't hurry.

He struggled to get to the area of the engine room where the detective lay in his dark garb and let out a sigh of relief. He yanked off his mask and cupped his hand over his mouth to feel the soft breath warm his hand. 

“Akechi?” He leaned in close and saw those russet eyes barely slide open. The detective shifted his gaze to him, a smile etching away at the corners of his lips that cracked to mouth: 

_ “You’re late _ .”

Happiness threatening to mist in his eyes. He made it. Joker scooped him up, the weary feeling in his bones as distant a memory as the time he bled out from the head after stealing from the other. 

"I'm sorry it took so long!" He yelled over the rushing water that was mixing with the oil from the tank that continued to fly from the punctured tank and— 

Everything went white as a flame crackled.

The air was burned from inside his lungs and his world went dark yet again. He was too late—

But he remembered everything in that moment of time— every last thing about them and how they managed to make things change. Akira had saved them. Finally, he had saved him from the pain of killing someone he loved.

And he knew it in that last moment on the ship. They were together finally. Even in death.

His eyes opened again and he was laying in a field of grass, the lights from the city around him drowning out the stars that littered the skies above him. He sat up, the world spinning far too quickly for him to steady himself.

It passed as he laid back down, taking swallows of fresh air greedily and rolled over on his side. Was he... alive?

He looked at his hands and touched them to his face. He couldn't hear anything, but he remembered the ark, the rush to the hull, Akechi...

Akechi, who in this life reprised the role of his would-be murderer. Akechi who had loved him in every life before this one.

He scrambled around, his arms buckling under the weight and the world blurring in his vision again. The explosion must have knocked his hearing out and was making him dizzy. But he was alive.

He scanned the field he was tossed into and felt his heart beating in his throat when he saw him. 

The gray jacket…

He crawled over to him, digging his palms into the damp earth to drag himself closer.

"Akechi..." He mouthed but was unsure if his voice was loud enough for him to hear. It ripped from his lungs still and singed from the smoke he inhaled.

He fell in the grass again, letting out a gasp of pain he could now comprehend over the haphazard drumming in his ears. He tried, and fell— and tried, and fell. He was now so close to him, he could almost reach out and touch him with his muddy fingers. The dirt was splattered on his glasses but he could still see him despite it, and—

"Akechi!" He took a deep breath and pulled himself to his feet with the rest of the strength in his body and wobbled to him before he tripped and fell back onto his knees beside the detective.

He was panting, but he kept himself balanced as he looked down at his fallen friend. He had so much to tell him, so much he needed to say.

He shook his shoulder with muddy fingers, trembling and quivering in the breeze of the winter air. "I remember everything." He blurted out, choking on the hoarseness of his own voice as his throat burned.

"I changed fate, Akechi!" He crouched down over him, pressing his shoulder down to that he was face to face with this beautiful person who left so many scars on him through so many lives and who touched him in so many ways.

"You didn't kill me this time, I did it! We did it! We can finally live on together. We can finally be free." He shook his shoulder again, letting a smile overtake his face and gingerly touched the other's face, staining it with dark mud. 

He was sleeping so peacefully. Akira almost couldn’t find the will to wake him, but he had to. This was too ceremonious and vital of an occasion to let slip by. They had time now to talk, to work it out— they really were destined beyond all the needless torment fate dealt them, after all. Akira had finally,  _ finally _ beat their destiny and put an end its brutal cycle of pain and misery.

"Akechi, I didn't get to tell you last time—" Or anytime, but maybe now… He could finally tell him how he felt. Ever since they were young boys trying to survive in the world. Even the times he hated him. Every single time he loved him.

“Come on, wake up. Please! I have so much to talk to you about.” He shook him again, a small sense of dread knotting in his stomach. The optimism in his spirits began to wither. Why wasn’t he opening his eyes?

He dragged his fingers down his face, leaving a trail of dirt like tears in the wake of them. Gingerly, he pressed against the nape of his neck.

Akira knew then a pain worse than death— than even the culmination of all the deaths he endured over the course of time that crushed his soul as realization dawned on him.

Always too late.

He sank over him, hands trembling in as the grief began to circulate through his blood like poison. Tears filled his eyes but he did not stem their flow. Akira choked out a sob through tightly gritted teeth and mustered his strength to pull Akechi’s head onto his thigh. 

“This isn’t fair.” He hissed, threading his unkempt fingernails through Akechi’s still damp hair. He could see it now, looking down the length of his body; the darkening stain that ate through the soft gray of his jacket. Where his cognition shot him—

Akira laughed, his broken voice crumpling in the chilled breeze. He almost did it this time. He almost did it.

He wondered if Akechi hurt this badly when he killed him. He didn’t know how to handle this; he had never made it this far before. He stared down into the obscured view of his enemy, his friend, his love—

“I swear,” His voice found its confidence, somewhere under the pain of existing he now had to endure. “I swear, next time, I won’t forget you. I won’t let you die. I won’t let you kill me.” He looked up at the cold winter sky.

“This life, I’ll make it right. I’ll make it right!” His voice held no more fear as he yelled out to whatever cosmic force was out there, mocking his pain. He would do whatever it took to ensure their survival, even if he had to personally shoot a god to make it work.

Next time, he would succeed. 

June was always a humid month as it rolled around once again. He lost count of how many times he had been in this TV studio, how many times he saw Akechi’s eye twitch as he challenged his authority and opinion on television. He knew the outcome, he had seen it a few dozen times before. 

He had a different strategy this time. He controlled his own script, and he burnt it away with every opening act.

Like he expected, Akechi approached him after the shooting was over and implored him to engage in conversations about the Phantom Thieves with him every now and again.

“Who, me?” He pretended to be surprised. It was the furthest from how he actually felt. “Sure, I don’t mind.”

Akechi’s smile was warmer than any springtime he had ever experienced. Through the years of repeating this same life, Akira had found their positions reversed. He remembered every life the two of them shared, no matter how short it may be. Akechi, on the other hand, was as clueless as he had been all those years before they were stuck in this scenario. So each time, Akira decided to prod at a new angle, still trying to play arbiter of his own fate.

It was enough. Being with him like this in the beginning, when their interactions weren’t laden with suspicion and conjecture. However, the end result had always been Akechi dying in some way, no matter how aggressively or passively he took his role. At one point, he even decided to never interact with him — the result was still the same as ever.

But now, Akechi’s radiant smile motivated him to try harder this time.

“Thank you very much.” The detective said politely.

“Hey…” He chimed in, shifting his glasses up to his face. “This may be really forward of me, but do you have any dinner plans tonight?” He swallowed hard as Akechi’s face blossomed into a glowing surprise for a split second before wilting back into that simple, polite smile he had come to don. 

“Wait, tonight?” To anyone else in the entire world, Akechi’s absolute shock would have been lost on them. But to Akira, the waver of his voice was like a song being sung only for him. It was a language he had become fluent in; the tone of his voice, the way his eyes darted to the lower right, the slight flush to his cheeks and the gentle biting of his bottom lip. All these signs alluded to a tentative acceptance of his offer.

“I don’t, actually. Why do you ask?”

“Because I feel drawn to you.” He offered truthfully, readjusting the bag on his shoulder to keep Morgana from sharpening his claws on his back. His eyes softened with an unexpected nervousness ran through him, his heart beating with the weight of a hundred lifetimes. He had never been this forward before but—

“Is that weird?” 

“No…” Akechi chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t know why, but it doesn’t feel odd at all. I’d love to, really.”

Maybe, this time, Akira would be able to master his own fate and keep his promises. No more pain, no more anguish. This time, he would show Akechi just what he meant to him—

Which was love that transcended every hand fate dealt to them, time and time again. And Akira would struggle to make their lives touch, hold fast to each other. Their souls were magnetized to each other. That was his ultimate vow, his blood oath.

This time, or even the next time—

He would keep his promises even if it took an eternity. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated!
> 
> My twitter is @ chromiekins


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